Lull my body
dull my self,
    ye good poet of mine;

I could use some lullaby
at this starry night—starry
stars in heavens, creations
from the comforter;
oblivion now seemingly a synonym of
blissful state of a mind;
countless stars—starry are they,
boundless thoughts—wild, rowdy
thoughts and imaginations
un-checked, stimulating,
eager to be loaded and fired,
    and so on, et cetera.

They are crossing the sky
dressed in a hue of midnight.

    I think of my late-night coffee
    to be some reason for this,
    but I'll never be sure, still.